


I Hate To Feel The Love Between Us Die

by kylebishop



Category: Smash (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:05:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5058601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylebishop/pseuds/kylebishop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate ending/what should have happened at the end of 2x13. Bishlins fix-it fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sauntering up to the doorway Adam had called him to, Jimmy was suddenly hit with a sense of finality. It struck him like the well-deserved smack he should’ve gotten earlier but he felt it like a punch to the stomach and it was too much to handle. There wasn’t any damn time to _think_ about it and there wasn’t any use in thinking about it, either, because he knew what the bag of stuff on the doorstep was and he knew why it was sitting there. That didn’t make it any easier to swallow. Kyle was kicking him out. 

They’d had plenty of fights over the years, some stupid and some serious—many of them heated—but it had never come to this. While he’d threatened it hundreds of times while he was upset and impassioned, Kyle had never actually taken the steps to disown Jimmy. Kyle was the one who was always taking _care_ of Jimmy, looking out for him, saving him time and time again. For him to have actually packed up Jimmy’s stuff and dumped it on Adam’s doorstep was a big deal. A really big deal. Jimmy had done so much shit over the years that the fact that Kyle was actually trying to sever ties was something he’d scarcely considered ever being a real possibility. And yet, here he was, staring down at his life all packed up for him, trying to register it, an alarm going off in his head.

It had taken everything in Kyle to keep his eyes ahead, to refuse himself the option of looking back, of rethinking things, of giving Jimmy one last chance. His boots hit the pavement angrily, and the song blaring through his headphones resonated so hard that he had stopped trying to fight off tears any longer. This was it, this was the end: the last goodbye. The moment in _Merrily_ when the good thing was not going but gone. Kyle had clung to it so desperately for so long that it didn’t feel real. He couldn’t believe he was living this moment. He didn’t want it to be real. It was like a nightmare, all hazy and horrifying. 

Squinting, Jimmy could just make out Kyle’s silhouette stomping away in the distance, his head ducked and his hands shoved into his pockets, in the same fashion he’d always done it so many times over the years, whether it was storming out the door away from him or stomping up the steps to his building when they were teenagers. He didn’t need any more convincing that the best thing he’d ever had was on the line, maybe even past it. That was not something he could handle, no matter how mad or sketched out he was. It was real this time and it scared the shit out of him. His fear immediately propelled him forward into the brisk winter night and Jimmy started running away from the crap hole Adam lived in, after Kyle. 

Something about how long it had taken them to get to this point both broke Kyle’s heart and fuelled the flames of his anger. Why had he put up with Jimmy’s shit for so long? Why was this his fate, to be in irrevocable love with this _asshole_ , and to be tortured by it for so long? He knew the answer, even if he ignored it right now, because the truth about the whole thing was that he and Jimmy knew each other better than anyone else in each other’s lives, and it wasn’t all bad. It was mostly good, actually, and while he’d been in ill-fated, unrequited love for a decade, Kyle really wouldn’t have ever exchanged it if it also meant giving up all the good times they’d shared. Despite that, if Jimmy was still going to to be the one he had to dream about, it wasn’t going to be in any way but unconsciously. It couldn’t be. Jimmy was over. He and Jimmy were over, they were going nowhere. There would be no more wishing Jimmy would kiss him, need him, ache for him. There would be no more secret love letters, no more inked dreams or desires on page after page after page. It was over.

Kyle was crying too hard to see clearly. He sobbed freely and kept his eyes on his boots, blinking teardrops that were coloured with blurred light from the street lamps above. Jimmy jogged behind him, gaining on him, cold night air filling his lungs and reminding him how hollow he felt knowing he’d lost Kyle, even for the moment. He wasn’t running his fastest so he could bide his time and think of what to say, because he knew it had better be damn good if it was going to have a chance at patching things up between them, and also so that he could give Kyle some of the space he was evidently craving.

Or was he? What if he was hoping Jimmy would chase after him and grab him by the shoulders and just kiss the hell out of him and make everything alright? That seemed like something Kyle would want, or would write, or would like in a movie or something. Not that Jimmy was thinking about kissing Kyle. He was just considering it. Because it just felt right to, and not because it was what he wanted. He was too sober now to toy with the thoughts he’d been wrestling with earlier. Earlier Karen had cooed to him in her texts, begging him to come to the bar, telling him how much she cared, telling him he wasn’t alone; telling him all the things Kyle made him feel without ever rejecting him for his past. All her texts had done were make him think about Kyle, and think about him in ways he usually shrugged off. And because he couldn’t deal with that with the stress of Hit List, he’d taken it out on himself and had gotten fucked up and had been a total ass on top of the bar in front of a crowd, when instead he could have just gone over to Kyle and Blake and kissed him or something, or maybe at least could have asked Kyle to go and talk and have kissed him then to spare Blake’s feelings. Either way, Jimmy wanted to make up for not having done that, and wanted to make up for it now, and his speed increased as he made the decision to catch up with Kyle and show him what he should have a long time ago. There was a stop sign coming up in front of Kyle that he was bound to catch him at.

That was when Kyle didn’t stop. He kept walking, his eyes locked downwards on his feet, lost in his own world like he so often became, and Jimmy wouldn’t have panicked if it wasn’t for the headlights he saw coming towards his best friend.

“Kyle!” he shouted suddenly, coughing because of the cold air that had filled his lungs. “Stop!” Jimmy started running faster, regretting the smoke he’d had an hour ago as if it was making a difference in his speed. Kyle didn’t flinch or seem to hear him at all. Jimmy knew straight away that it was because he had his damn headphones in. He watched, desperate and horrified as the headlights didn’t show a sense of stopping and neither did Kyle. “Kyle!” he shouted one more time. There must have been a shift in the stars or at least a pause in the music because Kyle heard the call, suddenly registered what he was doing, noticed the headlights and stopped dead in his tracks as the car zoomed by.

Things could have gone very differently.

Jimmy had watched it happen with tunnel vision, not in slow motion but at a speed that seemed too fast for him to do anything but wait for Kyle to end up as roadkill. He continued running up behind his best friend, making it to him just as Kyle was turning around to see who had called his name. Jimmy had enveloped him in a hug before Kyle had fully registered what had almost just happened. When he was shaken out of his haze and into reality, heart racing as he mentally recounted his near-death experience, he simultaneously realized who was hugging him and wriggled out of Jimmy’s grasp.

“What the hell, Jimmy? Get off!” he spat, not forgetting his tear-soaked face and red-ringed eyes.

“What do you mean get off?” Jimmy answered, defensive quills suddenly going up like a porcupine. Kyle’s reaction had embarrassed him and had reminded him of how pissed off they’d both been in the first place. “You almost just got hit, you idiot!”

“ _Me_ idiot?” Kyle retorted, mouth gaping, pulling his headphones out. “You’re gonna call _me_ an idiot after what you did tonight?”

“Look, I screwed up, okay?” Jimmy confessed, demeanour shifting again to that of a shamed puppy.

“That’s kind of an understatement,” Kyle commented through a bitter laugh, hugging himself now instead.

“Well, what do you want me to say, Kyle?”

“Nothing. I want you to get the hell away from me and go back to Adam’s or wherever. You’re not coming back to the loft. This is done, we’re done, okay?” As harsh as his words and tone were, Jimmy could see how much they pained Kyle to say, and it killed him to see the streaks of tears on his face. He just wanted to kiss him. No, not kiss him but…yeah, kiss him, kiss away his tears, kiss them off his cheeks and kiss him on his mouth until they stopped or flowed for different reasons. He wanted to kiss him so badly that he felt it burning in his stomach but there probably couldn’t have been a worse moment to do so, especially after just blowing up again when he’d intended on patching things up. He felt like a fucking idiot and stood frozen as Kyle glared up at him, trying to solidify his words even though his pursed lips were quivering with an impending sob. Swallowing hard, he started to turn on his toe when Jimmy went with his original plan and grabbed Kyle by the hips, drawing him close and leaning in to let his lips collide with Kyle’s.

There was no response at first. Kyle went limp in Jimmy’s arms because of the shock, and then the second wave of surprise washed over him and his eyes shot open in astonishment. Jimmy was kissing him. Jimmy was _kissing_ him. In the middle of the street on a cold winter night, Jimmy was kissing him and he was kissing him _hard_. Kyle felt the nagging urge to push him away, to stop this, to keep going like he’d intended to, home to the loft that was now his own, but that was more of a responsibility he felt he had than it was a real and honest reaction. So after a moment of feeling Jimmy’s lips move against his own with the heat and passion Kyle had only ever tried to gingerly, in all his virgin glory, write about, he grabbed the lapels of Jimmy’s flannel—of course he was out here in just a fucking flannel and Kyle was going to scold him about it later—silenced all his other thoughts and gave in. 

This was something Kyle had wanted for so long. He was feeling so many things at once and channeled them all into the kiss, moving his lips against Jimmy’s, hungrily pouring in everything he’d been harbouring inside for years. He desperately pulled himself in closer to Jimmy, pressing his torso up against his best friend’s, one of his hands loosening its grasp on the flannel and finding its way up to grab a fistful of Jimmy’s hair. This response was not one Jimmy had expected but was definitely the one he had been hoping for. It felt like it was out of one of Kyle’s stories, one of the ones that mirrored their relationship with a thin veil, that Kyle would sometimes read aloud to him if he’d had a couple drinks and was feeling brave and particularly passionate.

To be wanted like this by Kyle was something extraordinary. He put so much passion into the things he loved and loved things in a way Jimmy had never seen in anyone else. Even his love for the motherfucking Muppets exceeded what other people defined love as, so to be wanted by him in this way was surreal to say the least and felt like making out with your favourite melody.

Kyle felt like a song. His lips moved fast at first, then slowly, hanging onto each sensation for as long as possible before they parted and latched back onto a new one. He kissed musically, and nothing had ever before given Jimmy the same satisfaction as his fingers making melodies on ivory; not until now. Jimmy had always had trouble expressing himself but this felt like a new outlet, a new means of spilling everything out all at once in the most raw and honest way possible. He couldn’t believe how good it felt or how he’d waited this long to try it, because of course it felt fucking amazing. It was Kyle. It was him and Kyle and they were woven together like the notes in a minor chord—not without their darkness but completing each other and complementing each other and making something beautiful, emotional, eternal. Kyle would have been able to put it better, Jimmy thought, but was giving the kiss his all in lieu of it. They both were. Nothing had ever felt this good—not drugs or music or music on drugs.

Kyle was kissing Jimmy, learning what it was like to kiss Jimmy, suddenly knowing him on a whole other level, and he didn’t want to ever stop. Suddenly, though, Kyle tore himself away. He knew he couldn’t keep ignoring the big picture after what had happened earlier on, and all that had been piling up lately and taking a backseat to all things Hit List. Jimmy tried to go back in for more because he wasn’t at all ready for it to end either but Kyle pushed him back. He wiped his glistening lips on the sleeve of his coat.

“I’m still pissed at you.” 

“Ky…”

“Don’t, Jimmy. You can’t just show up and kiss me and expect it to all be okay.”

“I don’t—”

“And what the hell are you doing it for anyway? Was this your plan all along? You publicly humiliate me and then try to console me with a kiss? Because for one, that makes no sense, and two, that’s pretty—”

“No! I don’t know what I’ve been thinking, Kyle. I haven’t been thinking, okay? I’ve been trying not to think.” Jimmy licked the last hints of Kyle from his lips and sat down on the curb. He expected Kyle to sit down with him. 

He didn’t.

“I’m going home,” he said, turning on his toe as he’d tried to earlier, this time successfully. “Don’t follow me.” 

And he left Jimmy behind at his boot heels, hastily putting his earbuds back in and cranking up his music before he could hear any protests, feeling an oncoming rush of tears all over again.


	2. Chapter 2

Kyle cried for different reasons now. He could still taste Jimmy on the inside of his lips like a ghost. He hugged himself tightly and walked against the wind, his own energy nearly enough to send it the other way. The overload of feelings he’d pushed away while kissing Jimmy seemed multiplied now. He was hurt, he was confused, he was inspired. He felt conflict between wanting to never forgive Jimmy and wanting to run back and bring him home. He felt stupid for giving into his desires yet glad that he did. He felt a contrast of shame and passion, of betrayal and devotion. He was feeling a hundred different emotions that all crashed and clashed inside him and mostly, he just wanted to kiss Jimmy again. He sucked on his lower lip and then scolded himself for doing so, shaking his head and picking a different song to try and get his mind off of things, and to let the music wash over him and maybe wash him away with his tears.

Meanwhile, Jimmy was still sitting on the curb where Kyle had left him, wiping his running nose on the sleeve of his flannel. He never cried. Music was his relief, not tears. And yet here he was, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, trying to get everything to stop. The world never stopped, not when he was high on the couch and listening to Radiohead, not when he was playing music after hours at Table 46 or to Kyle and the otherwise empty loft, not even when his mom had died. But when he and Kyle were kissing, it did. It felt infinite like the kids in that book Kyle had made him read summers ago. Kissing Kyle had made the world around them freeze and Jimmy wondered if this was how theatre made Kyle feel. He always described it as this beautiful moment in time that people experience together, and that so much of the beauty is in the sense that it is live and fleeting, and that everyone feels a thousand different things and they all feel them together but in their own ways, and nothing else in the world matters for two and a half hours while you’re lost happily in a dream. Jimmy had always loved listening to Kyle talk about anything he was passionate about, even when he didn’t get what he was talking about, just because of how Kyle’s eyes lit up and his hands starting gesticulating wildly, trying to illustrate his points. The way Kyle talked about theatre was one of these things, one of the ones he didn’t fully understand, but now he felt like he knew exactly the feeling it gave Kyle when he was sitting there amidst strangers, becoming a part of the story on stage.

Both of them were caught in the storms of their emotions and in the rain of their tears, and neither had any idea how to proceed from this point. Kyle wasn’t even allowing himself to consider it and Jimmy had no clue what the right way to go about things would be but he wasn’t about to give up. Kyle had chased after him countless times and had always been there once he finally decided to come home after a three day bender, no matter what had happened beforehand between them, and now was Jimmy’s turn to show him how none of those times had gone unnoticed or unappreciated. Kyle had never given up on him and now he wasn’t going to give up on Kyle. Especially not after that kiss.

Kyle had told Jimmy not to follow and even if he hadn’t fully meant it, he knew he had to maintain it. Karen was right—if he didn’t get this over with tonight, he’d completely lose his confidence in the idea and end up welcoming Jimmy back home with open arms like he always did. He couldn’t let that happen again, not this time, no matter the alarming rate his confidence in his decision was decreasing and no matter how badly he wanted things to be different. If only their kiss could have lasted forever and they could have just spent eternity in that moment, forgetting the world and not worrying about all the rest of it, just loving each other and declaring it with their lips but not their words. If only Kyle hadn’t pressed play on the rest of the world again, letting reality and his conscience come crashing back down on top of him and pulling him away from Jimmy. If only he didn’t have a conscience or the history they shared wasn’t what it was, they could have stayed that way forever and wouldn’t even have the nagging memories and feelings that came along with the other chapters of their story. Then again, if they didn’t have the history of emotion they did, the kiss never would have been what it was. It was some kind of paradox that damned them either way. Kyle felt so deeply about things because they happened to him, and they affected him so deeply because of his depth to feel on that level in the first place. Without any of that, there would be no bad… But there wouldn’t be that kind of overwhelming good, either.

Maybe he had always liked that about his relationship with Jimmy—that it was tumultuous and always flared up with passion of one sort or another. If they weren’t yelling at each other they were laughing till their ribs hurt on the rooftop or sitting in the kind of comfortable silence that only comes as the calm before another storm over coffee at the kitchen island. They were each other’s people and nobody fully understood it. Kyle had explained countless times to countless people that they just wouldn’t get it because the history was their own and it could only possibly make sense to them, all the while attempting to convince them that it wasn’t just a one-sided thing where he was being taken advantage of. Jimmy had always protected him, understood him, connected with him, and taken care of him in ways Kyle imagined no one else could. When he couldn’t find the words to help Kyle, he’d sing to him, play private concerts for him, or just listen to Kyle ramble about his new favourite show or character. He always knew what to do when Kyle couldn’t get out of bed, and would even drag himself up despite a bad hangover to put coffee on on those days. He might not have been the best at conventional displays of kindness or care but any time Kyle looked back on it, it was always there in his own Jimmy way.

And god, Jimmy annoyed the hell out of him sometimes, not being able to hold down a job or being thoughtless or drunkenly bringing people over when Kyle had a migraine… But he always kicked them out once he snapped out of it and realized what he was doing, and he always apologized so profusely, and always got so down on himself about the ways he conventionally came up short. Their relationship was a hurricane but so was nearly everything Kyle had ever loved. There were as many violent winds of frustration as there were gusts that grabbed them and lifted them up, giving them that weightless high they’d heard in corny movie metaphors during climactic scenes. They were always caught between fits of passion, but there was no disconnect. Everything flowed, just like the weather, and they were constantly influencing and inspiring each other, in ways good and bad. It was as dangerous as it was addictive. And Kyle was trying to end it.

His life, he knew, would be so empty without Jimmy, just like the loft was when he got home. It wasn’t as thought he never saw it this way—he’d spent many nights waiting up for his best friend or waiting for him to get home from work. But this was different because Jimmy wasn’t coming home, ever. In his head that made it sound to Kyle like Jimmy had died and he suddenly realized that it would be better for himself if he just tried to act that way. He tore out his headphones and locked up behind him, going over to flop in his bed, face down on the pillow, not even bothering to get out of his coat and boots. He weakly half hoped Jimmy was right behind him, about to come in and kiss him again, and wished that somehow that would make everything right. Why couldn’t it? Why did it have to be so complicated and messy? The mess after their bad storms was always cleaned up by the fact that afterward they’d be curled up on the couch streaming movies together on Jimmy’s laptop or sitting thigh-to-thigh at the piano and singing the score of RENT or something. Kyle didn’t even know what to do without Jimmy. He almost reached for his phone to text Karen or Ana but didn’t want to bother them, and didn’t even really want to see them. He just wanted Jimmy.

This was going to be a difficult cycle.

Jimmy finally stood up, his sleeves both damp, sniffling and wiping at his eyes one more time before turning back around where he had come from to head back over to Adam’s. He wanted to defy Kyle’s words and follow him but he didn’t want to risk making Kyle even more upset with him. If he needed time to cool off, Jimmy could wait, and he was going to wait and make sure he got everything right… He just needed to come up with what that actually entailed. He knew this time was different than all the times before but it couldn’t have changed everything. They were still who they were and they still had their history. Kyle wouldn’t be able to forget that. He just needed some time away, to be alone, to scribble down his feelings in ink and maybe have a cigarette and listen to his favourite albums. Then Jimmy could go back with a better apology than he’d ever had and they could build things back up to where they’d been. And maybe–hopefully–make out more.

Shoulders slumped, hands in pockets, he ended up back on Adam’s doorstep where his bag was still sitting. He picked it up by the drawstring and hauled it inside, retreating to the shitty room he usually stayed in at Adam’s, thankful no one else was occupying it. Sitting down on the mattress that was on the floor, Jimmy opened the bag up and found a photo strip of himself and Kyle inside on top. He gently used his thumb to try and work out a crease that had been made in it on the way over among the clothes in the bag and looked at the four photos, smiling to himself first happily and then sadly, feeling his nose twinge with the promise of more oncoming tears. He was going to get Kyle back, no matter what it took. He kicked off his boots and reclined on the mattress, still holding the photo strip, now letting his thumb gently graze over Kyle’s cheek in one of the silly photos as if to stroke it, then held it against his chest, closing his eyes to try and get some sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

They say humans can go weeks without food but only a few days without water. Kyle Bishop lasted six days without Jimmy Collins.

The first day was the hardest. Everything Kyle did had Jimmy in the overtones. He couldn’t even finish his morning coffee in the loft before he was pulling on his jeans from last night and jamming his arms into his coat to get the hell away from their previously shared space. The mug he’d been using had been the only clean one and was, naturally, Jimmy’s favourite—one Kyle had made in a day-long pottery class at the community centre a few years prior. His t-shirt had smelled like Jimmy—it was, after all, Jimmy’s shirt he’d stolen, decorated with the Ramones logo and a staple of his ex-best friend’s wardrobe for the last decade. Even the damn sunlight coming in through the windows of the industrial loft was Jimmy because it just reminded Kyle of how it looked on the other man’s skin in the morning, dancing on his bare shoulders and illuminating him like the angel he was not.

 So, soon, again, his feet were pounding against the pavement, crunching on the salt that somebody had scattered on the sidewalks hours earlier, and his headphones were in his ears again, and he was shuffling the songs he had downloaded on his iPod over and over because every song was Jimmy and Jimmy was music. Frustrated, Kyle tore his earbuds from his ears and shoved them into his coat pocket, opting for the sounds of the street instead.

Jimmy waited a full day—well, almost—before he sent a text. It was a simple “Hey” and nothing more, that allowed him to dip his toes in the puddles of the storm they were in. He had his metaphorical umbrella prepared but didn’t need it, because Kyle didn’t answer. In reality, he’d let his phone die the night before and didn’t plan on charging it for quite some time, trying to make it easier on himself to avoid temptation-texting. Jimmy had expected either a hurricane or nothing in response, so he was not surprised when his text went unanswered. It gave him more time to work out his plan of action, anyway.

He wasn’t worried until the third day. Things had to be fine—Hit List was still preparing for their opening night and if anything had happened to Kyle, surely, he would have heard by now. He almost crashed the rehearsal he knew was taking place at Manhattan Theatre Workshop but managed to restrain himself, entirely due to how much he knew Kyle would hate that. If driving a wedge further between them was even a possibility at this point, that would have done it. The nights were harder but Jimmy was keeping his photo strip close in his breast pocket and managed to tune up an old guitar he’d left at Adam’s before his move in with Kyle. Writing music was always a way he’d coped, and it did the trick again to be able to put Kyle into another song.

Like the first, the second day for Kyle was the hardest. So was the third. The days weren’t getting any easier at all and he was so shaken up over the whole thing that he’d barely been able to eat or sleep at all and was entirely emotionally exhausted. He had felt himself into a physical illness in his stomach, too overwhelmed with the situation to keep it out of his mind. He’d managed to make it into rehearsals, passing the days like a ghost, assuring everyone he was doing fine despite the pallor of his face and the fact that he’d shown up in the same clothes for days. Karen had almost texted Jimmy to try and patch things up but Ana had caught her just in time, confiscating her phone and reminding her that they were all doing what was best and that of course it was going to be hard, especially on Kyle, but they had a show to throw themselves into instead. And they did, and the emotion was raw, but the writer was distant. 

Coffee didn’t taste the same anymore. Not for either of them. Kyle loved coffee and had always loved coffee, and Jimmy made surprisingly good pots of it for someone who couldn’t cook anything but latkes. But every cup he had during the days that passed tasted worse and worse, like the beans had been reduced to their bitterness as some sort of convenient metaphor for the bigger picture. Kyle used to love coffee but now it was just another reminder of what he didn’t have and how much he’d been hurt. Jimmy, on the other hand, had never loved it more. It was Kyle and it was rich and enveloping and warm, sweetened but layered with flavours and surprising hints. It was soothing and inspiring and he missed making it for Kyle on late nights when he was up typing wildly at his computer and going through loose papers over and over, looking for a note he’d made at some point on a subway ride or between making drinks at the bar or right after he’d laid his head down for the night but had suddenly gotten inspired by his pre-dream thoughts. It made him feel like Kyle was near him and made him miss him even more all the same.

The fourth day was the one wherein Kyle had a mental breakdown backstage at their preview, unable to keep tuning out the songs in the show and unable to continue coping with the memories of Jimmy that came with every scene, from writing and rewriting them to switching their sequences and nixing some completely, to watching him rehearse them and seeing him perform them live for an audience; their show, their creation. It was during “The Love I Meant To Say” that Kyle lost it, and he cried so hard that he threw up in a dressing room bathroom, and all he wanted was for Jimmy to be there, rubbing his back and pulling him back to his feet. 

By day five, Kyle knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He was no longer finding any enjoyment in seeing the show he’d written on its feet off Broadway, and he knew soon enough he’d be charging his phone and checking for texts or frantically texting Jimmy to make sure he was alright and alive. He’d had enough pent up anger to sustain him over the last four days, but after his breakdown in the bathroom, he was beginning to run low on anything but a numb sadness. God, he was so exhausted, and fuck, he hadn’t even dealt with Blake yet, or with Tom, or with anything. And everything was too much, especially Jimmyless, because if they weren’t having this stupid breakup then they’d be together and Jimmy would be saying all the right things even if it took him a while to get there, and he’d be holding Kyle close and rubbing his back and never judging him for being a fucking mess. Then again, he wouldn’t be anywhere near as much a mess if he hadn’t cut ties with Jimmy. Tom and Blake were inconsequential, and he felt a little guilty for using them to try and forge feelings like he’d done, but when it came down to it, he was hardly bothered by anything but the anxiety the public confrontation had given him.  
 If it wasn’t for Hit List, he never would have lasted this long.

By day six, Kyle caved and charged his phone, waiting as it synced up and a few texts from Jimmy came in. As he read them, his heart sped up, but he felt incredible relief as well. He bit into his bottom lip—the place where Jimmy had kissed him—as he’d been doing all week, and felt his eyes well up. Jimmy’s texts were sweet, timid attempts at conversation. They weren’t even the messy drunk texts he’d flooded Kyle’s inbox with so many times. Kyle kept reading and rereading them, and rereading them again. 

Jimmy had been sober all week. He’d caved and bought a pack of cigarettes to keep his cravings under control but hadn’t fallen back into old habits other than that. He had to get clean this time, for real. For Kyle. For himself. It had been no easy task but the cigarettes had helped, and so had the guitar, keeping his hands busy and his feelings flowing freely instead of being covered by a drunken haze or sped past by a cocaine high. It felt _healthy_ and good to be writing again, and writing so honestly, letting Kyle be his blatant muse, no longer hiding him behind a different name and identity. Kyle was there in all his songs, even if Jimmy had only realized just how much this week, and now he would be there on Jimmy’s lips as a melody and a lyric instead of just a metaphor.

It was on day seven, after a night of wrestling with his mind, that Kyle found himself back on Adam’s doorstep, fingerless gloved fingers in a fist, hesitating before he finally gave in to his heart and knocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go! (I think) I promise it's the happy chapter. Well... I think they might need to duke it out and get everything out there first but then they can finally start fresh and move past everything in a healthy way instead of ignoring the problems.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise it will have the happy ending they deserve!


End file.
